Ghosts of the past, Shadows of the future Side 3
by Storm Weaver1
Summary: This is the third one!! (Way to stat the obvious, but... oh, well)


Lucia's sidestory: Pride  
  
My mother used to say pride was a horrible thing: that it would twist up you mind so much that in the end, you'll end up doing things more out of stubbornness than out of real will.  
  
I can barely remember her, and yet her teachings still ring up in my mind from time to time.  
  
I, personally, don't believe pride is such a bad thing. The wrongness in it comes from what we feel pride of, and what we do with that feeling.  
  
I'm proud of my team, my brothers and sister. The only people in this existence that will ever be able to comprehend how I feel and how I think. They're proud, all of them are. They feel the same pride I feel, the same feeling that kept us going during our childhood (if it can be called that, since we were never given the chance to be children), the same feeling that will keep on driving us till the very end. We are each others family. we had to be. If you can relay on your siblings, then who can you trust???  
  
Definitely not J. the old skeezer only brought us pain and misery, till his end. He took away one of us, warped him until he could barely recognize himself, and sent him on his own to fight the battle we were supposed to face as a team. He ordered him to self destruct... not even now that the old fart is death will I ever forgive him for that.  
  
We were taught that feelings were useless. that the little buggers would only get us killed, and, therefore, fail the mission.  
  
Feelings kept our souls alive. Our shells have long been broken, our physical appearances are jaded from who we really are. And yet, there was always light in our lives. Light that was brought into them by a tiny blue- eyed child. God, how I miss him.  
  
I can still remember how it all started.  
  
My parents died in a car accident. I don't remember much, but I was told that I was in the car with them at the time. Go figure.  
  
Anyway, since I didn't have any relatives, I was gonna be shipped to this orphanage somewhere up north, but then the old fart appeared. He actually took legal responsibility for me. At first I was thrilled to escape the nightmare other children had made the 'home' to be, but it lasted little.  
  
The minute I crossed the door to the lab, I was stripped, washed, and my hair was cut until it was less than a centimeter long. Ugly gray clothes were set into my arms, and I was sent to the barracks. Two days later, the operations began.  
  
I won't go into details, since I still have nightmares about that time, but lets just leave it at: it hurt. More than you'll ever possibly believe that an eight-year-old child should have the right to endure.  
  
By the end of it, I was the only one left. There had been ten others in my room, non returned.  
  
Ten months later, J appeared followed by a boy my age. He introduced him as O2, and left. I had been called O1 since I had finished undergoing the 'change', so the number/names came as no surprise.  
  
I felt pity for the boy, he looked so scared and out of it. I could guess they had just finished with his 'treatment', so I helped him clean up and even went as far as to get some food for him as he showered.  
  
He gave me my name, Lucia, saying I was the light sent to show him the way. At the time, though, I was too bitter to see or understand what he was saying, so I ignored his meaning and told him to call me whatever he liked.  
  
I gave him his name, as well. Taking it out of one of the stories my mother used to tell me after church: Joseph.  
  
Almost half a year later, another child was thrown into our midst: Angela. Our angel. She came in a time in which depression had set in, and she pulled us out so fast, and so effectively, that it was almost a miracle.  
  
Her name also fit her looks like a glove. She was our golden ray of sunshine, bringing us life in our time of need.  
  
Almost two years went by after that, before any others joined us. We already considered ourselves as a family of sorts, but our line became tighter than ever before when he was added to our lives.  
  
He was darkness, were Gia was light. Dark brown hair, dark blue eyes, dark golden skin. He was thinner than a waif and yet he seemed to be the strongest one of us. It took a real long time for him to even speak to us, and even longer to win his trust. And then, our efforts were rewarded with the most beautiful smile we had ever seen. It sent our lives into chaos, but I wouldn't have had it anyway. Our youngest, our joy. Making him smile became an everyday goal, and listening to childish laughter became the sunshine in our lives.  
  
It was years later, on that fateful day, watching as his Gundam blew up into tiny pieces, taking him away from us, that I finally allowed myself to cry. For what had been and could have been, for what would never be, and for the brother we had left behind.  
  
He was proud. He would still be. Of his friends, of his team, of his family.  
  
Just as I am. 


End file.
